


mors vincit omnia

by TygerRises



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst with a sad ending, Battlefield Angst, Bina and I belong in Angst Jail, Blood, Death, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, I have a lot of feelings, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Seteth Spoilers, Spoilers for Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), everyone dies, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:08:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22889737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TygerRises/pseuds/TygerRises
Summary: Byleth and Seteth share their final moments together.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 17
Kudos: 65





	mors vincit omnia

It had been a long time since Seteth had flown. Not on the back of his wyvern, but on his own, unburned by his human form and its limitations. Free to stretch his wings and soar above the clouds, every massive wingbeat sending him further and further away from the shackles of the earth.

Unfortunately, these phantom wings, distant memories locked away, would not be able to save him from the fall. The shackles of reality pulled him down and out of his memories, down from the sky, and down away from the Knight's of Seiros's advantage they held in the bloody, bloody battle.

Seteth hit the ground with an unceremonious thud, the immediate _crack_ that followed causing him to snarl out in agony. Half of his armor was scorched, the burst of magic tossing him from his wyvern and sending his beloved beast careening into the ground a ways off. Too far away for Seteth to reach. 

Shakily, he pulled himself up to his feet. The only saving grace Seteth had was the Spear of Assal clutched tightly in his good arm, unburdened by the intense pain of a broken shoulder. " _Goddess_ -" His breath was coming out of him in ragged gasps, making him wonder if he'd cracked ribs upon impact too. So long as they hadn't lost the line at the base of the Monastery, they'd be fine. 

_They'd be fine._

_They'd be fine, right?_

Anxiety gnawed at his stomach like the licking flames around them, bodies and battlements ablaze in their fight against the Empire. Where had it gone wrong? Seteth had gone over all of the battle plans with Byleth the night before - Byleth, where was she? He no longer had the advantage of height to monitor the battle and to watch over _her_. Many things between the pair were left unsaid, the work of the war put before Seteth's growing affections. He had been content to watch from the wings of Garreg Mach, to cheer her on as her support and advisor. Nothing more. 

As his grip tightened around the haft of the spear, the grim echoes of his purpose reverberated through every bone, broken or not, in his body. This was his duty, too. 

His spear found the sweet spot under the Empire soldier's gorget, metal rings of the under-coif splitting at Seteth's monstrous force. Everything about him blazed with fury - No one would put the Monastery in danger, not those he loved. 

Not Flayn. 

Not Byleth, either. _Goddess, not Byleth too._

The swarm of soldiers, no matter how many he was able to take down, only thickened in the dark smoke that billowed around them. Seteth threatened to choke, eyes stinging, and lungs burning as the world seemed to press in around him. Flashes of red cleared some of the crowd away, Byleth's green eyes burning holes through all that opposed - and surrounded - him. 

Words caught in Seteth's throat - she must've seen him fall from his wyvern. While his heart warmed that she would run to him in the heat of battle, concern soon took its place. 

And more enemies. 

Reinvigorated, Seteth lashed out as best he could, knocking a soldier into another to send them both to the ground. From there, they were taken out quickly. "Byleth!" Seteth yelled, voice hoarse from shouting commands and the scratch of smoke. Her eyes flicked to his, The Ashen Demon easily dispatching another set of distracted enemies before her. She truly was a sight to behold, blood-spattered and focused as she steam-rolled ahead. 

To him. 

She was not far now, only a score of yards away. Seteth never painted himself as the damsel in distress, but Byleth coming to his aid was something he would never turn down. It was getting harder to breathe, and the old dragon could feel the wheeze beginning to settle in his broken lungs. Something was definitely _wrong_. When they fought off the last of the Empire, he could get treatment.

Another soldier fell. Every movement was getting harder and harder. He was getting slower. Sluggish. When he looked back to Byleth, hoping for relief, his eyes widened in terror, breath catching as he managed a strained scream. " _Byleth, look out!"_

Distracted in her brutal charge to reach Seteth's side, she neglected to watch her back. The back Seteth should have been watching for her. The back he'd been watching for what felt like years. He should have been there, should have been beside her, but no, somewhere along the line, he'd failed just like he had _oh so many years ago_. 

Byleth didn't utter a sound as the sword impaled her, bursting through her chest with pinpoint accuracy. If she did have a heart, it would have been skewered on the spot. Instead, there was a soft cracking sound, like the shift of gravel under a boot on a midday hike - _hikes to vantage points, Byleth and Seteth used to scout and once, even against his better judgment, they'd stopped for a picnic after traveling all-day. The weather had been clear. There was no smoke or ash or blood or screaming or-_

The memory faded from his mind just as the mint green tint of her hair faded back to the blue she'd worn before fusing with Sothis. It was like watching her die twice, her knees going slack as she crumpled in place, hand dropping the Sword of the Creator to the bloodied dirt below. As she fell to her side, Seteth felt his heart shatter.

Just as the crest stone inside of her had. 

_Seteth, Byleth, and Flayn fishing off of a pier._

_Seteth and Byleth sharing a chaste kiss under a starry, moonlit night._

_Seteth and Byleth watching the passage of time, their green hair unchanging as the years flew by._

Memories that Seteth would never share with her. 

" _Byleth, no!"_ He screamed again, vision clouding with pain as he stumbled forward in an attempt to reach her body. Was she dead? Was she already gone? Seteth didn't know, but he didn't get far before the massive club slammed into the back of his head. He slammed forward into the dirt, head reeling, and shoulder cracking once more. The pain he felt now was nothing compared to the anguish bubbling in his mind like an angry kettle. It threatened to boil over, a high whistle piercing his thoughts as it bellowed thick, dark smoke on the battlefield. 

What was he even thinking? There was no kettle, only the screams of anguish that accompanied every war.

It was hard to see straight. 

He felt a kick—right side. The crackling of his ribs pulled him back into reality, a painful existence all around. Undignified, he couldn't help but cry out. Saint Cichol, Divine saint and heir of Nabatean honor, reduced to a broken husk. Sitting up quickly was difficult, but as Seteth attempted it, a swift boot kicked him between the shoulder blades. His face rocked against the ground, causing him to wince. 

" _What a fuckin' shame, Archbishop's dog taken out so easily. C'mon lads, we've got tha Monastery ta take!"_ The thick accent offended his ears. " _Can't_ _have this one sneakin' up 'round us. Better skewer 'em here."_ A pair of swords stabbed into both his sides, effectively pinning him to the ground. Seteth saw white and coughed up blood, the bright red liquid spattering the field before him, trickling down the sides of his mouth. He didn't give them the satisfaction of vocalized pain.

Seteth wasn't sure what hurt worse. The fact he'd been taken out by a nameless soldier, an accident that he'd never be able to place, or the pain of living his past mistakes over and over again. 

He'd seen his wife fall. 

He'd watched Byleth fall. 

He'd not been able to do a thing about them. 

His wife was gone, though. Did Byleth still have a chance? Seteth was a dead man, but perhaps, maybe there was something he could do…

"Byleth…" Every struggle against the swords in his back was agony. His efforts only warranted cruel chuckles from the soldiers that passed him to move forward. Seteth had no doubt they'd be taken out by the rear-guard chosen explicitly for defense should their ambush fail. Flayn was safe. Flayn was safe. Flayn was safe. Byleth was not. He had to get to her. The kettle screamed in his mind, or was it his own? 

A bloodied hand pried one of the swords from his back. It was his own, wrapped around the blade, hoping for enough grip to wrench the damn thing out. Everything hurt. Stung. His lifeblood stained the ground around him. This time it was definitely not the kettle - his yell of anguish echoed in his own head as he pulled the last sword out, freeing himself. Shakily, he examined his hands. They were sliced open, blood oozing from the thick, deep gashes he'd caused. It was the only way. 

Now forward was the only way. 

He crawled, thoughts segmented and disjointed. Occasionally he had to stop and cough, a gurgling, wheezing affair that left him with more blood externally than he'd started with. Bloody handprints and a long, red trail marked his path to her, having to crawl over bodies more than once. It was hard with his one arm, but he managed, fingertips raw by the time he reached her side. The slight rise and fall of her shoulders was the only sign of life she showed. Even now, her face was away from him, no doubt painted with the same stony expression she always wore. "B-Byleth.." 

A bloody hand reached for her, staining her clothes as he rolled her onto her back, helping kick her legs out from under her with a tired foot. Her breathing was weak, and her skin cold. "Byleth, no, _no, nono…"_ The last remnants of his magic flickered to life at his bloody fingertips, surging in a last-ditch attempt to heal the sword wound in Byleth's chest. Even if… Even if he wasn't going to make it - The church needed someone like her. Strong, beautiful, inspiring… She was the future of the Monastery, even if he'd have no part in it. 

The magic swirled around her wound before fizzling out into nothingness, the edges of Seteth's vision going blurry with the effort. "Goddess, no! No!" His right fist slammed into the ground. If he hurt himself, so be it. Tears began to overflow his eyes, hot and wet as they dripped down his face, onto his bloody palms where they pooled messily. As he cried, Byleth stirred. 

Her blue eyes opened, another dagger slipped between his ribs and twisted. They were just as beautiful as the day he'd first seen them. 

How mesmerizing. How _mortal_. 

"So this is how it ends… One would think… on my deathbed-" Byleth managed a weak cough, spitting out a bit of blood off to the side. "- that I would be able to cry, and yet… I feel nothing." Those sparkling eyes locked with his, and Seteth couldn't help himself. His bloodied, mangled hands wrapped around one of hers, unintentionally slicking her pale skin with his own blood as he kissed the top of it. Even as he pulled it close to his lips, his hands shook. The open wounds begged for relief that would never come. 

The open wound in his heart begged for a salve he'd never receive. 

"Seteth, if you leave now, you might be able to warn them." She murmured. A mix of a cough and a whimper escaped his lips, muffled by the skin of her hand. He slowly lowered it, the loss of blood making his head swim. 

_Bodies littered the ground around them, the red sand of the canyon permanently stained with blood. His kin were strewn about, butchered and broken in their own home._ Memories, so many memories, and yet life still repeated himself. A lone woman was falling in a battlefield, hair weightless as their bodies fell. So many lives Seteth had lived, and yet so many parallels. "Byleth… it's Zanado all over again, but I'm afraid I won't survive it this time." 

The Ashen Demon - Byleth - showed no emotion, even on the battlefield. Even as she bled out alongside Seteth, too weak to move. Still, there was an acknowledgment of his words, an understanding even if he didn't quite understand them himself. The words were all blurred together. Jumbled. "What of Flayn?" She asked quietly, the only sounds piercing the silence far up the hill towards the Monastery. The clash of battle, steel to steel, and explosions of magic. Somewhere, a wyvern roared before the silence was thick once again. 

Seteth's lower lip trembled. 

"At the Monastery. Should the rear guard fail, they will get away. _Goddess_ , I pray they get away. I…" The words caught in his throat, too big and too heavy for his weak body to utter. The pain was so heavy. Was this what everyone at Zanado had gone through? Death had always been so immediate, so sudden - he always gifted his enemies with a swift demise. Neither of them were given the same kindness. He would face his death head-on - for the Nabatea. 

He felt Byleth's hand reach over and brush against his leg, reaching out for anything familiar. "Seteth…" 

She looked so frail. Had her wrists always been that small? She hardly looked like an adult, let alone the battle-hardened, stony-faced demon that had walked in with Jeralt so many years ago. "Yes?" 

"Are you afraid?" 

The question was like ice in his veins, chilling what little blood remained inside his body. He looked down at his hands, the oozing slowed. He tried to ignore the other wounds. "I am afraid for Flayn. I have no doubt we will still win this, but I fear for her growing up without me. Goddess, she's already grown up. I just… I just wanted to be there to see it… She'd only just gotten back to me, and now it's my turn to leave-" More tears to choke on.

Byleth paused, possibly out of respect, or was it because she was wincing? More blood stained the front of her jacket, pooling at the ground beside her. His hands shook as he gently took her reaching hand in his. A sudden realization took the shards of his heart and stomped on them, all but ripping the breath from his filling lungs. "Are… are _you_ afraid, Byleth?" 

Her head nodded as she stared back up at the sky, the smoke obscuring what would have been an absolutely beautiful day. _Byleth and Seteth pointed at the clouds, recalling their vague shapes and comparing them to mundane items._ Another memory. _The way her eyes lit up at the glittering lake below, Byleth utterly unaware at how absolutely captivated he was with her - Her attention never left the sparkling surface of the water. In contrast, his eyes never left her face. The way her face shone like the sun's reflection, the slightest upturn of her lips, oh how he wished to kiss her then and there. He was smitten._

"Jeralt - Dad - faced his death with such… grace and understanding. He managed to smile through it because he had someone… someone to smile for. It was me, and he _thanked_ me for it. But I-" She paused and blinked away tears, fighting the foreign feeling while Seteth watched, stunned. "-I have so many regrets, Seteth. I don't have anyone like that, except for you. You were the reason I kept pushing so hard. You were the reason I've been striving to be better than I am. I just..." The tears flowed freely now, body too weak to brush them away with a dirty forearm. "You were my reason for smiling, but you're-" 

_Goddess, no._ Ignoring the screaming pain in his side and shoulder, Seteth grabbed at her and pulled her towards him, half into his lap so he could lean over her and press gentle kisses onto the top of her head. He didn't care that it was inappropriate. He didn't care that everything in his body screamed at him to stop moving. The void pressed in on them, but he cried right back - a screaming kettle spewing hot air until nothing was left inside. " _Goddess,_ Byleth, I wanted to share millennia with you. I knew it from the moment-" He winced, gasping as a rib shifted with his movements, rocking slightly as he held Byleth. At least so she knew she wasn't alone. "-I knew it from the moment you rescued Flayn, b-but it wasn't until you fused with Sothis that I actually thought, maybe… we could.." 

Empty thoughts now that they were both on the cusp of life and death, tap-dancing on the line as they tried to steal whatever moments they could. Even now, he could feel himself growing weaker and weaker. Byleth's breathing increased as she struggled for air, a hand reaching out to squeeze his in her fear. He was thankful her eyes were closed as his head wrenched back in agony, the deep wound reminding Seteth of its presence under her trembling fingers. 

Seteth didn't have the heart to ask her to stop. Instead, he slumped forward and rested his chin on her head, tucking it in slightly to kiss her hair once again. And again. And again. How he loved her.

"I love you, Seteth. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Her tears slowed, and her grip slacked around his hand, leaving Seteth in stunned silence. 

Where she faltered, he pushed through, squeezing her hand as his own blood trickled down her wrist and forearm. "Despite my many years, there was still so much I wished to do… all with you, Byleth. I wanted so much for us. I am so, so sorry I did not say it before. I love you. I love you. I love you. More than words can express. For whatever moments may yet be ours, I will remain by your side, even to the end." 

He hoped she'd heard, worried her hair muffled his words. 

He was met with silence. 

As he loosened the grip on her hand, it fell onto his leg with a quiet thud, her eyes glassed over with the stoic, emotionless gaze permanently etched to her face. Never again would the edge of her lips quirk up in amusement at Seteth's easy fluster. Never again would he see her crouching among an army of stray cats, eagerly passing out fish and other treats to them. Such a kind soul he'd taken for granted. Byleth leaving his life never really registered until now. 

It was overwhelming. 

Seteth's chest wracked with sobs, his hands squeezing Byleth's body as he wheezed among the smoke and fire. He'd lived through this before with his wife, and yet the pain never got any easier. Each loss was another scar on his heart, just as broken and battered as his body now. " _Byleth… Byleth, I am so sorry…"_

Did she even hear him? Was she already gone by the time he'd confessed? The last thing he wanted to do was dirty her face further, but… he reached out with his good arm to close her eyes, pulling her close to him as the last of her heat faded away. It was there they would find them later, Seteth slumped over Byleth's cradled body, protecting her body until he faded as well. "C-Courage, my love. I'll… I'll be by your side again soon." 

**Author's Note:**

> THERE IS A SETLETH FANZINE CURRENTLY IN THEIR INTEREST CHECK - GO CHECK THEM OUT [ Setleth Fanzine ](https://twitter.com/setlethzine/status/1221195052959051777)
> 
> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/tygerrises)
> 
> Jfc enjoy your feels - I know this is not Ashes and i'm sorry but this was a brainworm that had to be written
> 
> Sparked by a conversation on the Setleth Discord Server. 
> 
> This is a "what if they died and confessed" 
> 
> I was told there HAD to be a hand kiss, so you're welcome VC
> 
> mors vincit omnia: Death conquers all


End file.
